Pediatric Pyogenic Granuloma Alternative Treatment

Normally, I aim to be more creative with my titles, but this is something I want people to find. So the keywords "pediatric pyogenic granuloma", "alternative", and "treatment" are all used intentionally. 

Pediatric pyogenic granulomas are defined here on eMedicine by Brian Keene, DO, as benign vascular lesions on the face. 

June 2017

My son was 22 months at the first sign of this growth under his left eye, just to the side of the bridge of his nose. It started as a red mark, kind of like a freckle. At first, I attributed it to a scratch he may have gotten while playing outside in the backyard and didn't do much more than put a bit of shea butter or calendula cream on it to help heal. It continued to grow beyond the skin like a bright red pimple. At a late night doctor visit in July for a persistent fever, the doctor quickly identified it as a pyogenic granuloma and said he would need to see a dermatologist to cut it off. My instinct always is to start with simple and natural solutions to support the body's already capable and amazing immunity and design. This is when the search began. I spent a solid 4 weeks trying to find as much information about the causes, related illnesses, potential treatments and their side effects. Everything I read pointed to surgically removing it and cauterizing the wound to prevent it from growing back. I also read in multiple places that these growths more than likely return and need a second or possibly third procedure. 

August 1, 2017 

On the eve of his second birthday, my husband and I decorated his doorway with balloons and streamers and went to bed late. After falling asleep, I heard Max cry out to me. By the time, I got out of bed, he was standing calmly in his doorway with a face full of blood. The pyogenic granuloma had grown so big that it was now larger than the size of a pencil eraser and full of blood. He had somehow ruptured it while sleeping and now we stood in the bathroom with rolls of toilet paper and turmeric powder trying to create a clot to stop the constant flow. It was a bummer that he had to discover his awesome birthday balloon doorway in the middle of the night, all sleepy and confused. 

It took a few weeks for us to find and then get an appointment with a pediatric dermatologist that was covered by my insurance. I have a vivid memory of being on the plane (I work as a flight attendant and was on call the day of the appointment) on the phone with the nurse at the dermatologist office trying to discuss alternatives from what they told by husband was the only way to go, slice and burn. The nurse argued with me until she knew I was unrelenting. Once the doctor was on the phone, I told him of a study I had found that recommended a topical application of Timolol gel. I sent him a copy and he agreed we could try it. He prescribed Timolol in a eyedrop application. I asked about it, and so did the pharmacy, but he insisted that is what he wanted to prescribe. So, we gave it a go and it kept growing and breaking and bleeding and growing and breaking and bleeding...till I felt so heartbroken for this strong, patient little boy who stood still while I put the drops on with fresh Cars bandaids. 

September 2017

The first surgical procedure was in September. My son acted like all of it was no big deal, didn't shed a single tear and watched Elmo's World the whole time. The adults in the room were far more worked up than him. It bled so much that the doctor had a hard time cauterizing it. After the surgery, we kept it covered in Neosporin, following the doctor's suggestion. It started to grow back after a few weeks. My heart sunk realizing that this growth was not going away. At the follow up appointment, doctor had us a schedule a second surgical procedure. So, in November we went back. This time we were armed with Elmo's World and a blanket from home. My husband and I were still nervous, though not very much. We thought it would be easy and simpler because it was smaller. On the contrary, Max was vividly aware of every step of the procedure and put up an intensely raw struggle. I had to hold him still with my arms, legs, and body. I remember looking at the wall because I couldn't bear to look into his eyes, holding him with the arms I protect him with, feeling like I betrayed him. Once it was over, he was okay. I was not. I knew that this was not the answer. 

And, then, yes, it grew back a third time. Even after applying Imiquimod topically for weeks. When I followed up with the doctor and asked him what alternatives he had, he took out his phone and looked it up, reading out a variety of additional invasive procedures from a list he found. Please know, this whole time, I'm still searching for answers in online forums, Facebook groups, and medical journals. I felt that I was more informed than him, or that at least I was actively trying to find a better solution while he was methodically applying the same old. 

This next part is the important part for you, the human, who is looking for a better answer. I remembered that I had choices and I listened to my gut. This is a tough step. It's so simple, it's hard. 

March 2018

Some of my sweet friends recommended applying frankincense oil and I started keeping it consistently covered, six to eight times a day. Thanks to a recommendation from a fellow mom on the Las Vegas Very Natural Mamas Facebook group, I contacted Dr. Angela Stueber at True Health Acupuncture. She admitted that she had never dealt with a pyogenic granuloma and wanted to research and contact her mentor. Yes! She got back to me within the week and agreed to work with us. At this time, the PG was the size of a chia seed and the scar from the second cauterization was raw and had never properly healed because of the Imiquimod treatment. Six weeks later, the PG is gone and his scar is healing beautifully. I won't be naive enough to assume this is the end. I keep a watchful eye on it every day and continue to apply frankincense and helichrysum oils to it directly.

I hope this story helps you. 

Infinite gratitude to my first born for being a teacher in strength and patience. It was scary it times, but you always kept calm and trusted me to take care of you. I have no choice but to live up to your trust. You are so loved. 

Thoughts on Grandparents Part II

My sleeping bag, ukelele, camera, and the baby's diaper bag are by the door ready for tomorrow morning. We'll rise with the sun and while Max hums his morning tune, I'll brush my teeth and remember to bring my pillow. Seven hours later, after long thoughtful Nevada spaces, we'll arrive at St. Mary's, the place where I was born, to see you.
You're not sure if it's worth it anymore; you may have even made up your mind that it is not, but this morning, while they loaded you into the ambulance, cussing and fighting, GranD told you that it wasn't your time yet, Sammy's on his way. We'll be there this time tomorrow. Max will make you smile and maybe breathe a little easier.
I've heard the whispers from your sister, brothers, your daughter, reassuring me that they are there for you with strength and freedom. Thank you for preserving your point of view through numerous angles and lenses. You are loved in an infinite sense.

Generations of Thought - Or, Reflections on How to Talk to the Elderly

Letter to My Grandparents:

What I understand about you and your view on the world is as useful as your interpretation of mine. Sure, you've been here before, but you're not here now. And, yes, I'll be there one day too, but I'm not there yet. As your grandchild and future great-grandchild, we come as a package right now, I know how important it is for me to be with you at this time. No matter how much time has passed between then and now or between the two (three) of us, Life is universal. This kicking and punching fetus is as alive in me as my mother and father were in my grandmothers. Making that connection with you is so important to me. I am grateful for the years between us because they are what make this bond stronger and even more important. I hope that this kid has the privilege of growing up around you, just like I did. Thank you for your time, your lessons, and your love.

Letter to Self When I Find Out I'm A Great-Grandparent:
Don't remind your grandchild and future great-grandchild about how close you are to death every 10 minutes. This is a fact, a reality, that I am sure they are aware of, perhaps not as painfully as you, but they know it.
Your stuff is not important to your grandchild, you are. Whoever gets what after you die is irrelevant.
Try not to reveal too much information about your bathroom habits. It's true that it may become the most anticipated event of the day, but it's also true that it can be too much information.
When you say "I love you", really really feel it and mean it. Hanging baggage on those three words negates them.
Share stories about your babies and grand babies. That's the gift you have to offer.
Eat good food, go for walks every day, take care of yourself so you can share your time, your lessons, and your love as long as you are able.

I'd like a Manhattan, please.

I can't find a picture of us together. I have pictures of her birthday cake and the balloons. I have blurry quick snaps of her with friends.
I want to know if she would have liked listening to Nina Simone, or what her favorite dessert was. What was her middle name? What did she want to be when she was 10?
I know she feels amazing right now. I know she knows she's loved.

Knowledge is power

I am an educator. Therefore, it is inherent that I believe knowledge is power, because I've seen it and experienced and nurtured it. While wasting my knowledge points on my FB feed, I came across the following three posts. They all rang that deep internal teacher gong:

"Yes, books not bombs please," says the reasonable adult. 

I finished reading Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas by Tom Robbins yesterday, which coincidentally waxes poetic about the mysterious knowledges of Timbuktu. Then, after reading this article the sensitive librarian in me sputtered with dignified outrage and then, immediately, drink a bottle of wine. 

"New fears for the city's historical treasures emerged Monday as Malian soldiers reentered Timbuktu. The mayor told the Associated Press that as extremists fled, they torched the main library stocked with ancient manuscripts, sending “the history of Timbuktu” up in flames."

http://www.latimes.com/news/world/worldnow/la-fg-wn-timbuktu-destruction-manuscripts-20130128,0,2853548.story

And, this:

Thank you children. 

Home is...

...where you hang your hat, where your heart is...
Yesterday, I stretched my mind out so far that I felt like bursting out of my skin. I made the journey to Red Rock and as I walked among the giant bones of my ancestors, I felt at home. When I remembered what the place I call home most often felt and looked like, all I wanted was to be there. So, I left the Rocks of Red to get to the place I call home. The place with my leather couch, our coffee cups, my stash of socks, and Lou's encyclopedia set.

...where you make it, on the range...

I love it here. Las Vegas. I'm a true blue Nevadan to the core, though I've always affliated myself with the more granola Northern Nevadans being a native of Reno. I lived in Reno for the first 6 years of life. Presently, I have been a resident of Las Vegas for 16 years, going on 17 this July. Henderson was the hometime I thought I'd never find again. Whatever my mixed emotions are about the two, today I know that I could be happy here for a long time and that's an excellent feeling.
10 Jaw-Dropping Sights You Can Only See in Nevada

...Nevada, su casa...

Reading my mind in the paper this morning wherein other Las Vegans reflect on the year of Downtown 2012 and what 2013 will be the year of. All of the suggestions are equally viable and deserving. I wonder if this is the year I plant a bean seed on Water Street. 
The Year After Year of Downtown

Resolutions

Good morning 2013. Resolution #1 - Send birthday cards 

Resolution #2 - Fly more

Resolution #3 - Less screen time

So, I read this morning.

Quotes from Terrance McKenna's Food of the Gods

Permaculture Permeates:

An Insight into the Male-Female Way of Thinking and Communicating OR Why Seed Saving is Sacred:

"Women, the gatherers in the Archaic hunter-gatherer equation, were under much greater pressure to develop language than were their male counterparts. Hunting, the prerogative of the larger male, placed a premium on strength, stealth, and stoic waiting. The hunter was able to function quite well on a very limited number of linguistic signals, as is still the case among hunting peoples such as the !Kung or the Maku.

For gatherers, the situation was different. Those women with the largest repertoire of communicable images of foods and their sources and secrets of preparation were unquestionably placed in a position of advantage. Language may well have arisen as a mysterious power possessed largely by women - women who spent much more of their waking time together - and, usually, talking - than did men, women who in all societies are seen as group-minded, in contrast to the lone male image, which is the romanticized version of the alpha male of the primate troop. 

The linguistic accomplishments of women were driven by a need to remember and describe to each other a variety of locations and landmarks as well as numerous taxonomic and structural details about plants to be sought or avoided. The complex morphology of the natural world propelled the evolution of language toward modeling of the world beheld. To this day a taxonomic description of a plant is a Joycean thrill to read: 'Shrub 2 to 6 feet in height, glabrous throughout. Leaves mostly opposite, some in threes or uppermost alternate, sessile, linear - lancoelate or lanceolate, acute or acuminate. Flowers solitary in axils, yellow, with aroma, pedicellate. Calyx campanulate, petals soon caducous, obovate...' and so on for many lines.

The linguistic depth women attained as gatherers eventually led to a momentous discovery: the discovery of agriculture. I call it momentous because of its consequences. Women realized that they could simply grow a restricted number of plants. As a result, they learned the needs of only those few plants, embraced a sedentary lifestyle, and began to forget the rest of nature they had once known so well. 

At that point the retreat from the natural world began, and the dualism of humanity versus nature was born. As we will soon see, one of the places where the old goddess culture died, Catar Huyuk (pronunciation emphasises not noted) in present-day Anatolian Turkey, is the very place where agriculture may have first arisen. At places like Catal Huyuk and Jericho, humans and their domesticated plants and animals became for the first time physically and psychologically separate from the life of untamed nature and the howling unknown. Use of hallucinogens can only be sanctioned in hunting and gathering societies. When agriculturists use the plants, they are unable to get up at dawn the morning after and go hoe the fields. At that point, corn and grain become gods - gods that symbolize domesticity and hard labor. These replace the old goddesses of plant-induced ecstasy.

Agriculture brings with it the potential for overproduction, which leads to excess wealth, hoarding, and trade. Trade leads to cities; cities isolate their inhabitants from the natural world. Paradoxically, more efficient utilization of plant resources through agriculture led to a breaking away from the symbiotic relationship that had bound human beings to nature. I do not mean this metaphorically. The ennui of modernity is the consequences of a disrupted quasi-symbiotic relationship between ourselves and Gaian nature. Only a restoration of this relationship in some form is capable of carrying us into a full appreciation of our birthright and sense of ourselves as complete human beings."

Why I Choose Fungi As My Key:

"I believe that a long history of shamanic usage is the first seal of approval that one must look for when selecting a substance for its possible effects on personal growth. And if a plant has been used for thousands of years, one can also be fairly confident that it does not cause tumors or miscarriages or carry other unacceptable physical risks."

Permaculture or Die:

"Go green or die"

Downtown Project - School Garden

This project makes my bone marrow quiver with passion. I am a proud graduate of Las Vegas Academy, with memories of cooking an authentic German feast in the church’s kitchen to experiencing my first kiss by the tree under the stained glass windows. A decade later, I am deep in pursuit of connecting my love for children and gardening. When I learned about this project, I felt the horn of Neptune echo through my blood. (If my overt metaphors are making you uncomfortable, just please understand that I’m trying to convey falling in love with a possibility.) I was equally excited to bring my fellow permaculture teacher and friend, Cindy, in on the project. I love her brain and am always looking for an excuse to bask in her brainstorm. This project seemed to embody what Cindy and I have spent countless hours chewing on pencils over. How are we going to get schools to love gardens as much as we do?

So far as I understand, this will be a private charter school beginning with 0-5 years, each year adding a grade. The students will mostly come from working families, primarily those that work with Downtown Project’s sugar daddy, Zappos. The goal is to create a very hands-on curriculum centered on a garden that feeds the students and their families with an after school program designed to cook hot meals to take home and, occasionally, a community dinner at the soon to be events center, the former church.

Cindy and I met up with the established team of directors and planners at the site of the future charter school last Thursday. We both took time off from work, driving from our suburban homes, and arrived eager to discuss with pads and pencils ready to go. Ideas were flying out of my mouth, unedited and unbridled in enthusiasm.

• Start a compost bin, this way you spread interest in the school garden and community center by getting the LVA kids involved through a Foodie/Garden Club and even the neighbors (you know, the people that live right across the street), and at the same time generate a source of nutrition for the soil that will in turn nurture the community.
• Contact Nevada Fish and Wildlife and the local Tortoise Rescue Group and designate part of the garden space to native flora and fauna, making a connection for inner city kids and adults between the importance of preserving wild spaces and our local food heritage.
• Promote water harvesting within the soil so families learn easy and applicable ways of honoring this valuable and essential desert resource. 

We were given a quick tour of the outer perimeter painting a picture of what was already designed in the plans. At the mention of turf, a small sigh wriggled between my clinched lips. At this point, I got the impression that my input was more like a slip of paper in the suggestion box. Please believe, I do not mean to discredit that at all. A suggestion box is important because at least the opportunity to provide input exists, right? Realistically, I felt that this beautiful opportunity has already set sail with a boat full of movers and shakers. Bon voyage and god speed! I’ll be there to smash the champagne bottle and wave. Time to start building my own boat.  

On a note regarding local activism,

A friend posted on his blog today, a very overwhelmed and poorly edited post, lamenting about the state of local activism in Vegas. Frankly, I'm tired of people talking about the need for change. It's all around us! Las Vegas clearly has its sins, but I couldn't be prouder of my city. In the ten years since I've graduated from OG Las Vegas High, downtown has erupted in culture. This can only be accredited to neighbors, community leaders, and Las Vegas's very own breed of local. This perception that many local activists subscribe to limits possibilty. Small changes deserve attention too. Yeah, you know what, I'm overwhelmed too. Everytime I see a dog running around the neighborhood with no one to love him or remember the Texas sized trash pile in the Pacific or read yet another headline about how our Federal government continues to favor the ever-failing dollar over humanity by silently slipping legislation through to support GMOs in our food, I feel like this is all too big for me to fight. And I'm right. What's no too big for me, Jessica Penrod, to fight, is ingratitude, societal barries of what I'm supposed to do in relationships/career/finances, and squash bugs (though they remain invincible, I persist). All I'm saying is, people, open your heart and your lovely eyes and look out and appreciate the beautiful and small things that make this town a beautiful and small place to live. Can't see it? I know plenty of beach towns that are easier on the eye about 4-5 hours west. Take plenty of water and send me a postcard of your journeys. May you find that beautiful place you wish you lived in. May your heart and eyes open to recognize it, otherwise you'll be looking for a long time.

Planting the Seeds of Intention

Lately, while watching bees stumble around the compost bin at the garden, I've felt this complete serenity and explicit joy, it almost brings me to tears. Most of the visuals that occur as I meditate are in relation to a garden, worms and seeds buried in the soil brimming with possibilities. The image of growing hops and wheat gave a shudder in my spine. I could feel my great-grandma sitting on me, insisting I locate her hollyhock seeds and preserve my seed heritage. Potatoes for abundance, sunflowers for wisdom. A teepee of sugarsnap peas and morning glories, grape arbors. And bees!

The Trees

What I miss the most about Federal Street...

Homebrew is America

I'm finding that I need to redefine patriotism for myself. Perhaps, I seek a connection with a larger cultural web of ancestors and traditions. Or, maybe it's the 10 year reunion of 9-11. As a 10 year old in rural Oklahoma, I staged my own Fourth of July parade with wagons, my little sister, and Disney the Dalmatian. Now, I am wondering where that connection was lost or if it was ever there.

To begin, patriot comes from the Ancient Greek word pater, meaning father. I share the same sentiment as Amanda in Another Roadside Attraction, "No more father figures! No more."

The connection I feel with America's culture is through the autonomy of apron strings and the abundance of warm apple pie. Thus, quitting my blue-collar job is patriotic. Here are 3 reasons why:

1. I am embracing the idea/concept that the place that I am in now is the best place I've got

2. This place that I'm in is America, a land abundant in freedom of choice which always leads to consequences. Consequences lead to creation, the opportunity for autonomy.

3. I am choosing to own that freedom and to create my life, my work, my joy.

Labor Day was originally conceived in 1894 as a national holiday consisting of a parade to exhibit the "strength and espirit de corps of the labor organizations" followed by a festival for the laborers and their families (thanks Wiki for the info). Instead of attending the local parade (was there one?), I bottled beer to celebrate this great holiday of Labor. This is the beer that I brewed in my kitchen at Federal four days before moving out. Tonight, while admiring the wealth of freshly bottled homebrew in my new kitchen, I understood why I was so insanely compelled to start this batch before moving. It began at the end of Federal Street and ended at the beginning of Sellers Place, spanning the changes that occupy that time and space of the summer of 2011. This beer is the bridge over my summer.

And now, America's Godfather of Brew, Samuel Adams, "Driven from every other corner of the earth, freedom of thought and the right of private judgment in matters of conscience, direct their course to this happy country as their last asylum."

We interrupt this program for a brief message from our sponsors...Teachers

Tomorrow morning marks the first First Day of School that I will be sipping coffee in pajamas. Sure, my stomach will be tied in the same old knots (first day jitters?) but not for the same reason. See, tomorrow marks my first day on the job of Me. I am my own Boss, and from what I know about Boss Jessica, it's not going to be easy. I just jumped off the 10 year investment I made in the education system as a public school teacher. 5 years as a student at UNLV, devoting hours weekly to volunteering and working as a substitute at schools around the Las Vegas Valley. 5 years as Ms. Penrod with fifth graders, second graders, and kindergarteners building gardens, hatching butterflies, and reading books.

Here's a little prayer for all of my friends at Morrow ES. May tomorrow be full of sharp pencils, bright smiles, and fresh nametags. Thank you for being the strength in our childrens' lives.

This evening's special...

Curry orzo stuffed green bell peppers

Beets, 1 turnip, 2 yellow summer squashes, seasoned with garam masala

Yogurt and Ginger Mango Chutney stuffed mushrooms.

All roasted.

Accompanied by a glass of Basque wine.

Kitchen inspiration brought on by a poem I read to my students today called Jessica Jane

Seedbombs!

2 weeks ago, I hosted a Seedbomb Making party at my house. A few good friends attended and by the end of the night we had over 60 seed bombs and at least 2 cases of empty beer bottles. This party was also helping me prepare for the bottling stage of my homebrew. :)

While researching seedbombs, I bookmarked these sites as a few of my favorite. The very first site has the recipe we used:

http://freedomgardens.org/2010/10/04/make-your-own-seed-balls/ - Recipe is straightforward. Perfect!

http://mademoisellechaos.blogspot.com/2010/03/make-your-own-seed-bombs.html - Tried this recipe out first. The newspaper was fun to play with and making heart-shaped seed bombs was pretty sweet, but they ended up being too dry for our climate.

http://www.guerrillagardening.org/ggseedbombs.html - Great website! This page details a variety of seedbomb recipes.

http://heavypetal.ca/archives/2007/03/how-to-make-seedballs/ - A west coast urban gardener

I thought this should be as free as possible. Somehow, it didn't feel as genuine if I had to buy the ingredients. So, I used clods of clay dug from the permie plot at the Tonopah Community Garden, dry compost from my own backyard bin, and a combination of loose seeds from everyone who came to the party. We ended up with regional wildflowers, vegetables, and herbs.

After they dried up, I took the dog for a walk and "planted" a few. I was picky about where I planted my bombs. I chose spots that I knew would receive some water from run-off or sprinkler. Also, the spots were generally overgrown, weedy, trashy areas that could use something pretty. I plan on keeping track with photos over the next few weeks to see if anything grows. How Vegas...always a gamble.

What I learned today...

* Blue eggshells turn a beautiful green in the compost pile

* Northern Sea Oats are hardy

* I have mycellium growing through the alfalfa/straw mulch in the side yard

* Throwing rotten pumpkins is fun

* The main sprinkler pipe split from the freeze

* Moving too fast can hurt your fingers

* How to properly use a charcoal chimney starter

I spent the whole day outside. Time meant nothing. I didn't even need to eat. I listened to my iPod and sang to the dog while doing whatever it was that needed doing out in the yard. All except the smashed fingers in the door, it was a fabulous day. When I smashed my fingers, I took the next hour and a half off. I sat on the porch swing with an ice pack and watched the garden, napped in the sunshine, pet the dog, and read a little. Observation and stillness in the garden are as important as change and movement.

I grilled squash in the fire pit for dinner. It helps me pretend I'm camping.

Saturday Chicken Love

Trading chickens for an iPhone?

I've taken my sweet ass time getting a cell phone. After years of resistance, searching for pay phones in seedy areas of Las Vegas, I've purchased an iPhone. It will satisfy my desire to be more organized and polished in the many projects I get in to. It will be a reliable source of communication when volcanoes and earthquakes knock out land lines. It will pinpoint my exact location, purchases, and feelings. I can post videos of a Chihuahua wearing a sombrero and dancing on YouTube. I might even set up a Twitter account just to join Jimmy on Late Night Hashtags.
I cannot lie. I am as nearly excited about this new toy as any Wired magazine reader would be. I also read Mother Earth News and often go to work with chicken shit still on my boots. As my parents put the final touches on the chicken coop, the date of departure for my feathered friends is nigh. So, the timing is a bit painful.
My dad has built the Taj Mahal of chicken coops. Taj Mahal in the sense that it is a passionate expression of devotion for his love. It is also quite an upgrade in real estate for the ladies. The coop here at the yellow house is a dog crate (tall enough to stand in) with an closet rod for a roosting bar. They have an old milk crate for a nesting box. They eat out of a dog dish. They are allowed to roam free all over the backyard during the day and put themselves up at night. They lead a mostly feral lifestyle. Keeping chickens for me has been more like inviting some birds to stay. Other than the morning breakfast, it's free range.
On Tuesday, I found Maggie in my neighbor's yard at sundown. I counted the chickens on the roost before saying goodnight, "One, two, three...where the hell?". I instantly spotted her in my neighbor's backyard and hopped the fence. I chased her around for 15 minutes wearing cowboy boots, dirty jeans, and a flannel, no joke. Finally capturing that chicken and holding her in my hands was profoundly rewarding. After we both settled down, I knew that this move was a good idea. The chicken coop/shed that my dad designed for my mom is a work of heart. The chickens will be safe and protected from coyotes, cold rain, and neighbor dogs. As a bonus, my mom will have her first garden shed. For almost 20 years, the saddle and bridle have been moved around in boxes and now they have a hook to hang on.
Rita, Lola, Lupe, and Maggie, I will miss your morning call to a scrambled egg breakfast. I will miss your pretty feathers all over my lawn. Guero will miss herding you.

It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

Well, sometimes I feel fine about it and other times I'm ambivalent and then there are the times that I'm despondent. It's not worth debating in my head what it is or when it will happen, because I'll miss out on what I've already got, right? One thing I know for sure is that it's been on my mind. Every time I watch my partner, my love, drive away to work, I get a little sick in my stomach wondering if this is it. Worry is useless, I tell myself, shake it off and move on to the to do list that keeps a mind distracted from deep ethereal rhetoric such as that. I spent today cuddling with the chihuahua in the various soft places throughout my humble home, meandering through the many paths on the Internet. In the course of my couch travels, I found these nuggets of comfort. So, who knows what the hell will happen? Not I.

I started my day off with this book:

The Money Fix

Spontaneous Vegetation
I spent some time exploring this website and Nance Klehm's work. She's hosting a Rainwater Harvesting Class in Joshua Tree next weekend. Tempting...

A short film put together by a local film company showcasing a Councilman running for election. I like the shots of downtown Las Vegas and the overall love for my town. That's it, I said it. I always thought the farther away I was the better, but I like it and it's no use lying to myself anymore.

And...Rob Hopkins speaking on Ted of Transition. Sustainability or resilience?

Hello rain

I hear you on the roof and in the yard. The plants are grateful, I'm sure. I know I am. I've had a hard time sleeping tonight, but thanks to you, I'm a step closer.